


The Ties That Bind

by TheLionInMyBed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Tongue-in-cheek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLionInMyBed/pseuds/TheLionInMyBed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor did not feel mighty then. The power of Mjolnir and all the strength of Asgard behind him, and it still wasn’t enough. There were still so many dead. Of course, they called themselves the ‘Avengers’, didn’t they? Not the ‘Rescuers’, or the ‘Defenders’. What good was it to <em>avenge</em> these people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackWave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWave/gifts).



> Written for Blackwave who wanted Thor being sad and getting his hair braided by one of the other Avengers. This is...exactly that.

His hair blew about his face, wheat-fair strands darkened by grime and clotted with blood. They stuck to the wound on his cheekbone, and he flicked them away in irritation.  His head ached and he felt sick and dizzy, but those were the least of his pains. He was no stranger to the hurts of battle. 

He stood outside the facility, watching rescue teams come and go with covered stretches, ignoring the smoke that stung his eyes and tangled his hair. Anything was better than what lay inside; a smell of antiseptic so strong he could almost feel it condensing on his tongue, and under it the reek of blood and human waste and human suffering. 

A pointless skirmish against a petty man who had thought to become a god. And around him was a charnel house of failed test subjects. So many dead, so many lives wasted in an attempt to create an answer to the technologies of Stark, to Rogers the supersoldier, to mighty Thor the Asgardian. 

He did not feel mighty then. The power of Mjolnir and all the strength of Asgard behind him, and it still wasn’t enough. There were still so many dead. Of course, they called themselves the ‘Avengers’, didn’t they? Not the ‘Rescuers’, or the ‘Defenders’. What good was it to  _ avenge _ these people? 

He mind wandered, as it so often did, to his victory against Malekith. Had vengeance brought back his mother? He had consigned an entire race to extinction, as he had once refused to do to the jotun. Had there not been a better way? He was monstrous in his heroism. 

He slumped to the ground feeling more defeated, more dejected than ever.The surface beneath his knees was lumpy and gritty, nothing like the mirror-bright marble of Asgard. Asphalt, Jane had told him once. Now it was just another reminder of how far from home he really was. 

His hair blew forwards again and he brushed it back, harder than he meant to in his irritation. A few strands came free and he watched them flutter between his fingertips, beaten gold stained red.

“You ought to tie that back.”  _ Natasha _ . He hadn’t heard her approach. He was half deafened by the clamour of the preceding battle, but he doubted he would have anyway. 

Even after the chaos of the fight, she was composed. There was a bloody bandage around her left thigh, but she walked casually, without limping. 

He waved her aside. “I have nothing to tie it with.”

“Here,” she said. “Let me.” As if from nowhere she was holding the black handle of what he recognized as a midgard folding blade, but a flick of her wrist and it unfolded into a comb. “Never leave home without it,” she said, following his gaze. “Now hold still.”

She sat down behind him, cross legged like a schoolgirl and began to brush. Her hands, so unflinching when it came to taking lives, were surprisingly gentle, and he found himself leaning into the pull of the comb. 

The last person to touch his hair like that had been his mother. 

Suddenly his eyes were wet. He scrubbed at them fiercely, smearing blood and tears across his cheeks. It wasn’t manly to cry, but he just couldn’t seem to stop. His mother, his brother, the horrors that had occurred as a direct result of his actions, and of his mere existence. 

Natasha didn’t offer any words of comfort, and he was grateful for there were none that could sooth this hurt. She continued to brush his hair as he wept, carefully working out the tangles she found and humming a gentle lilting song under her breath. He did not recognize it from the Emm Pee Threes he had heard, strange songs about giant snakes that desired only bread, and he assumed it was a song from her childhood. 

He was not the only one far from his home, he realised. 

His voice was choked, but he tried to speak anyway. “Natasha, I thank you for your aid but-”

“Quiet. I’m not finished.” She began to section out his hair and braid it, nimble fingers swift and sure. “We used to do this for each other,” she said quietly. “Back in the Red Room. It was more practical for combat.” There didn’t seem to be anything he could say to that, and she didn’t seem to expect an answer. He focused on the feel of her hands in his hair, grounding himself in them and trying to master his emotions. 

Already he was a better man that he had been two years ago, he told himself. He would be better still. He would protect the nine realms, no matter the cost. 

“How’s this?” Natasha asked him finally, holding up a mirror she had pulled from who knew where.

With his hair pulled back from his face he looked younger, and perhaps more vulnerable than he was used to seeing himself. He would not be ashamed of that. The braids his friend had woven were more elaborate and more elegant than the warriors styles his mother had combed his hair into, but there was still something familiar in them, and that comforted him. 

His mother was dead, but she was not gone. And he would not face these new horrors alone. 

When Natasha offered him a hand and he stood, his eyes were dry. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr in the [obvious place](http://thelioninmybed.tumblr.com)!


End file.
